


pleasant

by smithens



Series: héloïse [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Ficlet, M/M, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 20:51:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8768791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smithens/pseuds/smithens
Summary: Before he and Enjolras must return to Paris, Combeferre has something which he would like to do.





	

**Author's Note:**

> minific in the same verse as [la nouvelle bête](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8230253/chapters/18861575).

 

“If you must know, I find it pleasant to take time alone with you.”

“Do you?”

Combeferre nods, pressing his palm to Enjolras’s own. They are not so far from Paris that they cannot be back by nightfall, not after a day of travelling, but the wood is secluded, and quiet. Beams of sunlight brighten their little patch of grass, and the blanket they lie on is pleasantly warm even as the air is brisk.

The satchel of powder flasks sits within Enjolras’s line of sight,if he rises, but not Combeferre’s - for which he is thankful. Their duties are over, they have accomplished that which was required of them, and now they have a brief time for relaxation.

Enjolras’s gaze is unrelenting in focus, his smile ever-so-subtle. When Combeferre meets it directly, however, Enjolras turns his head over and up to look at the sky above.

“Let's depart soon,” he murmurs, but as he speaks he clasps Combeferre’s hand with more pressure, and shifts closer. “She is more irritable in the afternoon.”

And then he says nothing more but a hum.

The wind rustles leaves of the trees above them, and Combeferre looks up to see several colorful birds take flight.

Meanwhile, Enjolras touches his knee to Combeferre’s thigh.

A shiver runs down Combeferre’s neck, and he releases Enjolras’s hand to tug him forward and over by the placket of his coat.

“Do you not concur?” he says.

“It is not often we are so alone as this,” Enjolras replies, but he does not move from his place - that is, nearly above Combeferre. “I wonder if you were so hasty to accomplish our tasks for this reason.”

“I shan’t lie to you,” Combeferre murmurs into Enjolras’s ear, touching his cheek to Enjolras’s.

Enjolras breathes deeply. Combeferre himself cannot resist a happy sigh.

The wind returns just as Combeferre gains the courage to say what his true motive was - and when Enjolras, before either of them can speak, promptly moves away and then stands, he realizes it was not the wind at all.

Illuminated in the sunlight, the strap of their ammunition bag held tightly in her mouth, Héloïse is staring at them. She flaps her wings once, then twice, and Enjolras voices a sound which Combeferre could not begin to comprehend even if he tried (and he has certainly done so).

Héloïse does not falter.

Then Enjolras turns.

“We ought to return to the city before dark,” he says firmly. “Let us not postpone what we might do at present.”

Combeferre wordlessly gathers the remainder of their things and follows.

On their way back to Paris, he sits with his hands firmly on Enjolras’s hips; just as they return to ground later that evening, exhilarated and exhausted both, Combeferre touches his lips to Enjolras’s neck.

They dismount, the dusk steadily turns from pink and orange to purple and blue, and Enjolras reciprocates affection as he is able - and for that, Combeferre could not be more grateful.


End file.
